


(Code) Names

by ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden)



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, CIA are bad people, Gen, Pre-Series, blackwing days, blackwing escape, fluffy nice ending tho, how the rowdies became four, some Dirk angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:54:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9256883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Of_Dresden/pseuds/ClaraCivry
Summary: Project Icarus and some other Projects are being held in the Blackwing facility against their will... until they aren't.Origin ficlet of sorts for Dirk and the Rowdy three.





	

He couldn't stand it, those four walls.

Being confined for so long, always in the same place, no fresh air, not being able to drive, to strike back at those who have locked him up in this cage. Martin felt that he could go insane any moment, but wouldn't allow himself to do so, for two main reasons. One was that he needed all of capacities for when he could exact his revenge (and wanted to be 100% sane and present for that) and the other was those guys had Cross and Gripps and who knew what they were doing with them. He needed to be all there to be able to retrieve his fellow rowdies.

But being all there in that cage was hell. He didn't know how many times he'd punched walls, his room had gassed and he'd woken again the wall was fixed. They were watching and didn't allow any revelry, anything out of absolutely normal behavior. Which wasn't something he'd never excelled at.

He wasn't treated horribly there. He had a toilet, three meals a day (bland, but what can you do) and the worst things they did to him were some tests. He knew, because he had heard the screams, that others, other _projects_ were being treated much worse. Experimented on. Obviously, Martin didn't know what they did to him when he was sedated, but hey, what you don't know can't hurt, or something like that.

But being away from the van and their never ending tour of chaos, away from the sun, and their bats and their roaring freedom, away from his brothers, it hurt much more than any needle. Worst part was, he didn't know how the hell he was going to get out.

 

 

+++++3

Vogle was trying to remember what his mother had looked like, but couldn't. He had been two years in this... facility, as they called it, and before that he had been in some group homes and foster houses. But none of his foster parents had felt like real parents. He was too different, too unpredictable and was starting to be a bit old to be adopted. It wasn't his fault that he was so spirited, that he liked creating a bit of chaos every now and then. That he was rowdy.

 

So the people from the group home had left him with those agents, told him he was going to a place for special people. They made it sound like it was some school for the gifted but it was a prison. There were many things Vogle didn't know because he was still a child, but he knew was jail was and bad people went there and lived there forever. Which was unfair. He'd never been _that_ bad. And it wasn't a regular prison, either, it was specially bad.

 

They made him do things he didn't want to, poked him with needles, screamed at him and never let him go outside. He thought he'd seen other children but he wasn't allowed to talk to them, much less play with them. He wanted to get out but they wouldn't let him out and he was so tired of that small white room... And besides, they called him by a name that wasn't his name. They called him project.

 

Vogle was the only thing he remembered from his real mother (who died when he was two) and it just a sound, a distant memory, probably not even his real name. But they wanted to take that away from him, too and he wouldn't allow it. Names were important, they were part of you. So there he was, a child in a too big bed in classified CIA facility, trying to remember his parents, because those memories were the only family he had left.

 

There was nobody coming to save him.

+++++5

 

Once upon a time, Svlad had believed that these people wanted to help him, use his abilities for the good of the world, protect other people like him. He had thought that something good could turn out from these investigations, that they were on the same side. That they were doing something great for the world, something that could change everything – maybe something that would give his strange life some meaning.

But he no longer hoped that. He was their prisoner, and they didn't have him to help him or the world. They had him so they understand him and that way be able to neutralise him, and other people like him. Their projects had probably been them, those CIA people trying to use them as weapons – now the project probably simply was locating them and keeping them away from society. Away from good, normal people.

They were meaner now. He was getting less food and more invasive tests every time he spoke out of turn or his tests didn't get the results they wanted. He understood that they wouldn't let him go, that maybe he would end up dead. Their experiments had gotten worse as they became more frustrated, and the future didn't look at all pleasing. He knew that of some the marks would scar, be there forever.

But what hurt the most was how they used, how they have deceived him. He'd honestly believed that this was the place he was supposed to be, the start of something great, something new. Now everything was falling apart, and all he had left was betrayal, sorrow and hopelessness. His life had never easy, and he'd never alone almost constantly, but this was a bit too much, even for him. But no. There had to be something he could do, some reason why he was there.

 

++++7

 

There were several alarms blaring, and all the projects were getting out. Nobody knew how, Project Icarus had been able to put sedatives on the guards' food and override security, so all the doors were opening, and there was nobody awake to stop them.

Freedom, at last.

Martin had reunited with his brothers, incredibly happy to see them after so long and couldn't wait to get out of that place, once and for all. No more cages, they would take a new van, some bats and vandalise as much stuff as they could, to compensate for this terrible drought.

As they were leaving, they bumped into a wide eyed kid, who was running around with no clear aim, obviously wanting to get out. He kicked some chairs while he was at it, broke whatever he could in the way. A lot of spirit for such a small person. The rowdies looked at each other knowingly.

“Hey, kid, what's your name?” The little boy didn't seem scared of them, which kind of amazing on its own.

“Vogle.”

“No last name?” Martin asked.

“Just Vogle.”

“Do you have anyone outside, Vogle? Parents or something?”

He shook his head.

“Can I go with you? I like it when people call me by my name.”

“You've got spirit, kid, but I don't think we can be anyone's parents... Besides, we're the Rowdy three, the Rowdy three can't be four.”

“Why not?”

Ten minutes later the four of them left, together, never to be separated again. The Rowdy three became four, but didn't change the name, because names were important.

There was a pale kid, probably foreign, also running to get out, to get out of all of it. They wouldn't get him again, they wouldn't use him again. His hands were shaking and he was sleep deprived, underfed and on the verge of a panic attack but he didn't care. He had to get out of there and start anew – there would be no more Svlad, no more Project Icarus. He would change his name, be a different person, don't let foolish aspirations get in the way of what his life was supposed to be.

He'd let the universe take him places, without thinking too much about what he could do and how different. Without letting anybody know, either. He would have to lay low or they would trace him and put him back in that room. Suddenly the whole facility spun, and he was swaying. But strong hands stopped his fall.

“It's ok, kid. You're free now. We're all free.”

And that they were.

 

* * *

 

Dirk Gently was sleeping peacefully, sandwiched between Vogle and Amanda, after they'd rescued him from that terrible place where Blackwing projects were being taken. He'd been pretty shaken up and was bruised and had some broken bones, but now he was with friends again and he could sleep peacefully.

Martin wondered if this was the same kid that he saw when they all escaped sixteen years ago, looking like he'd been to hell and back. Wondered if he had anything to do with the escape, wondered how hard it must have been to see oneself back there.

The thing was, they were together now, all those hells had made them stronger. Fiercer. Scarier.

No more code names, no more projects. No more cages.

Their name was to be feared and screamed in the night while they roamed freely.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Feedback about these loves makes this tired worker a bit happier, so anything is very appreciated!
> 
> Also accepting H/C, angst or sickfic requests in this fandom ;)


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